Chalk

On National Mac and Cheese Day,
you wearing shorts were bent

away from the sun, spinning pastels

on the sidewalk, your pale knees
ghostly from chalk, and a sort
of giggly anxiety still hung

in the humid air after a series
of animal inquiries, I struggling
still to tie balloons, peeling

my gaze from the window, where
you were bent away from me,
into the circles of ten significant

suns, which elbow me in the
longing, a song buzzing on
my veranda lips, watching

your furrowed brow break light
on the face of strangers, a smile

so sweet and cheesy, I stole.